Throwing Heat dad-3

by Jennifer Seasons

  Jealousy sliced through her, totally unexpected and completely unwelcome. What did she care if he got his rocks off watching scantily clad women go at it?

  Just to prove she didn’t, that she could’ve seen him staring right at them without feeling a thing, she forced her gaze off the action and looked for his messy black head and white vintage Led Zeppelin T-shirt. She found him at the far end of the table sitting next to Drake, who must have arrived while he was busy harassing her. The big veteran was glued to the scene playing out nearby, but Peter hadn’t even seemed to notice.

  Nope, he’d snagged somebody’s beer and was kicked back in a chair with his ankles crossed, watching the band onstage. A thick black leather bracelet covered his wrist and his jeans were faded and frayed. His leather jacket was tossed over the back of his chair, and he had a five o’clock shadow covering his lean cheeks. When he reached for his glass the tattoo on the inside of his bicep peeked out from under his sleeve. She couldn’t see from the distance, but she knew it was a way cool yin-yang dragon.

  A little bit humble and a whole lot of cocky, Peter Kowalskin was totally badass. He looked it and acted it—like nothing was off limits.

  But he wasn’t into watching chicks.

  Relief washed through her, taking the jealousy with it. And the fact that she felt relieved that he wasn’t into the girl-on-girl make-out session was seriously frustrating. Why should she care?

  She didn’t. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.

  That’s what she told herself as she made up a ton of busywork to keep away from the Rush’s table. When she’d run out of excuses, she left the floor and headed down the back hall toward her office, thinking it was time to check on Lorelei. The noise from the club became muffled as she made her way to the back, and the relative quiet began to smooth her frazzled nerves.

  Once she reached the end of the hall and came to her office door, she pushed it open silently and slipped inside. Lorelei was sacked out on her plush purple velvet sofa, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Kicking off her heels so she wouldn’t wake her, Leslie bit back a groan and wiggled her cramped toes. As beautiful as the shoes were, and as powerful as they made her feel, they were still hell on her feet.

  Casting a quick glance at her sister-in-law, she was reassured to find her still sound asleep. Dark circles smudged beneath her eyes and she was curled up on her side with Leslie’s hand-knit blanket over her. The multicolored chenille throw had been her first attempt at knitting something harder than a scarf, and it looked pretty good if she did say so herself. A few tie-offs had come loose, but the unraveled threads gave it a fringy kind of appearance.

  For a woman who was rarely domestic, even she found it odd just how much she enjoyed the craft of knitting. But it had only taken one good Colorado blizzard for her to discover how relaxing it could be—and how well it helped pass the time when thirty-mile-an-hour winds whipped the snow coming down into whiteout conditions and kept everyone indoors.

  It was all part of her fresh start, this trying new things. Cooking, knitting—getting all grassroots and stuff. For her anyway. Such a far departure from the life that she’d lived before. Then it had been work and the beach. Those were the only two things that had turned her crank.

  Well that and killer shoes.

  Glancing down at her only remaining pairs of Jimmy Choos, a sad little sigh escaped before she could stop it. Lorelei stirred at the noise and shuffled on the couch, a hand flopping off the cushions to dangle near the floor. She came dangerously close to taking out a struggling potted bamboo plant without even knowing it.

  As quietly as she could, Leslie moved the pot out of harm’s reach and noted how many leaves had already turned yellow. She’d bought it just last month. Poor thing.

  Just then a knock on the door sounded, startling her. Whirling around as the door opened a crack, she saw her brother’s dark blond hair come into view, relieving her. He must have come to retrieve Sleeping Beauty.

  “Is she still asleep?” he whispered not so softly.

  “Not anymore I’m not,” came a grumpy reply from under the throw blanket.

  Pushing the door the rest of the way open, Mark strode in and crouched down next to his wife, concern and love filling his voice. “Are you all right, baby?”

  Lorelei pushed the blanket aside and sat up, her dark brown hair a tangled mess. “Yeah. What time is it?” she said around a huge yawn.

  Leslie watched her brother kiss his woman tenderly on the temple before he replied, “It’s time to get you home.”

  Straightening, he helped her to her feet as she said, “I sat down only for a minute. I swear.” She looked confused and embarrassed by her impromptu napping session.

  She shouldn’t be embarrassed about it. Heck no. The couch had more lure than any Greek siren ever could. Leslie had succumbed to its temptation more than once. She wasn’t ashamed to admit it. And she wasn’t even pregnant.

  That couch sucked you in like a vortex.

  Mark wrapped a strong arm around Lorelei and pulled her close into his side. It was so sweet, she thought as she watched the two, the way her brother behaved around his wife. For too many years his warmth had been hidden under an ice sheet of cynicism, a terrible first marriage to one crazy bitch the source and blame. But then Lorelei had come along hell-bent on stealing from him to save her family and his calculated aloofness had melted under the passionate tornado that was her.

  Now when Leslie looked at her brother she saw the real Mark. The guy with the big, tender heart and ready smile. She couldn’t be happier for him. He deserved that kind of love.

  Her sister-in-law snuggled into his side and smiled up at him, her eyes brimming with adoration and affection. And he looked back at her just the same. It was wonderful. Heartwarming even.

  The stab of envy took her completely by surprise.

  Blowing out a breath, Leslie mentally swore. Why did she have to go and start feeling envious of couples in love all of a sudden? What was that about?

  Not since she was a teenager had she been interested in happily ever after with a man. Life had taught her the hard way that it simply didn’t happen like that in reality. At least not for her. Which was perfectly fine, since tangling with a man only made things messy. She had the list of damages to prove it. Each one as painful or bad as the rest.

  So why—out of the blue—she found herself getting riled over it, she just didn’t understand.

  “We’re going to head out, sis.” Mark’s voice snapped her back to the moment and she tuned in just as they were stepping through the door.

  “Yeah, y’all have a good night.” She waved them off, ready to have a moment to herself. It had been a long day and she could really use five minutes of alone time.

  Which brought her right back around to the fact that she liked her life just the way it was—complete freedom and independence. Not a snowball’s chance in hell would she give that up for all the couple moments in the world—no matter how cutesy they were. It wasn’t worth it.

  And there wasn’t a man alive who could ever make her change her mind.

  Chapter Five

  PETER WAITED UNTIL Mark and Lorelei had left and then he walked down the long hall until he reached Leslie’s office door. He’d seen her disappear to the back earlier and figured she was still there since he hadn’t seen her come out. Fighting back a smile and resisting the urge to rub his hands together in anticipation, he turned the doorknob and peered inside. He couldn’t wait to see where this interlude would lead.

  Leslie was seated behind her desk and her head was leaned back against the chair’s headrest. When she heard the door creak she jerked up straight. Realizing who it was, she tilted the chair back on its spring with a smirk and put her bare feet up on her desk. Then she crossed her slender ankles, and his attention was drawn to her coral-painted toenails. Each big toe had a white flower accent on it, and it was sexy as all hell.

  He’d never considered himself much of a foot guy, but
he was in danger of acquiring a fetish now. She must have caught the direction of his gaze because she wiggled her toes playfully, a sly grin taking over her gorgeous face. “Is there something you want?”

  There was a whole lot of something that he wanted. And it was right in front of him all wrapped up in a sassy attitude. God, he loved that about her. The woman was all kinds of sauce.

  For a guy like him who didn’t want the responsibility of holding onto anything, Leslie Cutter was the perfect woman. She was as wild at heart as he was and even harder to handle. “I want the same thing that you want.”

  She cocked her head and eyed him, her pretty hazel eyes assessing. “You mean to permanently erase that night from my memory bank? Because that’s what I want—to forget that ever happened.”

  Peter tossed his jacket on the purple velvet sofa and made a tsk-tsk sound. “That mouth of yours is too pretty to be sullying it up with lies, sweetheart. Shame on you.”

  Her brows slashed low and her eyes narrowed like a feline’s, flashing with warning. “You’re one to talk about shame.”

  The way she said it had something hot stirring to life in his gut. It was the first time she’d willingly referred to that night. Not the most flattering thing to hear, but at least she was talking about it.

  Pressing his advantage, Peter strode casually over to the bookcase beside her desk and began perusing the shelves. She stiffened at his closeness and his body reacted to her by going hyperaware and focused, just like it did during a game.

  And of course, his palms went sweaty.

  She was the only woman who had ever made him nervous. Wiping his hands as casually as he could on his jeans, Peter glanced over his shoulder and caught Leslie checking out his ass. He grinned to himself, his ego boosted. Yeah, his ass was a good one.

  It ought to be, he thought, with all the work he put into it. Being a professional athlete meant keeping his body in prime shape, and it was nice to know the effort paid off in other places besides the ball field. “Is there something you want?” he shot back with a raised eyebrow, amused at being able to toss her words right back at her.

  “You wish,” she retorted and tossed him a dismissive glance. Only he caught the gleam of interest in her eyes and knew her for the liar that she was.

  Peter took a step toward her, closing the gap by a good foot until only an arm’s reach separated them. He leaned forward and caged her in placing a hand on each armrest of her chair. Her eyes widened the tiniest bit, but she held her ground. “I wish many, many things.”

  “Really?” she questioned and shifted slightly away from him in her chair. “Such as what?”

  Peter couldn’t help noticing that her breathing had gone shallow. How about that? “I wish to win the World Series this season.” It would be a hell of a way to go out.

  Her gaze landed on his mouth and flicked away. “Boring.”

  Humor sparked inside him at that and he chuckled. “You want exciting?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? Amuse me.”

  That worked for him. Hell yeah. If she didn’t watch herself he was going to excite the pants right off of her.

  Just excitement, arousal, and sexual demands. That’s what he was looking for this time around. And it was going to be fun leading her up to it.

  But if he wanted her there then he had to start.

  Pushing until he’d tipped her chair back and only the balls of her feet were on the desk, her painted toes curling for grip, Peter lowered his head and until his mouth was against her ear. She smelled like coconut again, and his gut went tight.

  “I wish I had you bent over this desk right here with your hot bare ass in the air.”

  She made a small sound in her throat and replied, “Less boring.”

  Peter grinned. Christ, the woman was tough. “Do you remember what I did to you that night in Miami? The thing that made you come hard twice—one on top of the other?” He sure as hell did. It had involved his tongue, fingers, and Leslie on all fours with her face buried in a pillow, moaning his name like she was begging for deliverance.

  She tried to cover it, but he heard her quick intake of breath. “It wasn’t that memorable.”

  Bullshit.

  He slid a hand from the armrest and squeezed the top of her right thigh, his thumb rubbing lazily back and forth on the skin of her inner thigh. Her leg tensed, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Need a reminder?” His tongue slipped out and traced the delicate curve of her ear.

  “I might,” she whispered, and he could feel her breathing go shallow.

  Lust pooled low in his belly. Reminding Leslie what it had felt like was exactly what he wanted to do. “I thought you weren’t going to sleep with me. Are you going to fold that easily?” Not that he was complaining, but he’d thought she’d be a tougher nut to crack than that. He’d anticipated it even.

  What he hadn’t expected was for her to spread her thighs in invitation. But that’s exactly what she did, and the lust in his belly shot straight to his groin, making him instantly hard and achy. Pulling back to look in her eyes, Peter was surprised by the wicked gleam he saw there. What was she up to?

  “Isn’t this what you want? Me, willing and pliant?” She put a hand on top of his and guided it closer to her crotch. He could feel the heat coming off her and it nearly made him whimper. “Here, how’s this?” She moved his hand until he was cupping her and could feel her moist heat through the fabric of her pants. “Is this what you want?”

  Jesus.

  His hand jerked and curled into her, making her gasp. It had been far too long since he’d had his hands anywhere on her body. “It’s a start.” His cock throbbed and strained against the fly of his jeans.

  No problems there.

  Enjoying himself immensely, Peter cupped her and began rubbing the seam of her pants with his middle finger, taking his sweet, sweet time stroking up, then back down. And he felt her go from hot to steaming.

  Her head fell back against the chair and she closed her eyes, letting out a soft moan. It nearly buckled his knees, made his chest squeeze. “You always were good with your hands,” she gasped, arousal making her voice throaty.

  He was good with his mouth too. Capturing her lips with his, Peter kissed her soft and slow, his tongue stroking hers in an erotic dance meant to melt any resistance. Sinking further and further into her until all he knew was the feel of her hot little pussy under his palm and the way she tasted.

  God, he’d missed her.

  The thought entered his head and shocked him, pulled him back from the drugging effect of her kiss. His heart began to jackhammer in his chest, but before he could pull back further Leslie grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged him back down.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered against his mouth. “You feel so good.”

  Her hips had started to move in time with his hand, her body searching, yearning for more. Whatever her game was, she was clearly enjoying it. This was either going to be the easiest bet he’d ever won or the woman was playing him like a fiddle.

  Either way he was totally on board.

  Hunger bit into him with jagged teeth and he pushed his finger against her, making her cry out. It wasn’t his mouth on her like he wanted, but it was enough for now. It was enough to make her come.

  And making Leslie Cutter orgasm had just become his singular mission.

  Peter took her mouth again, impatience nipping at him, causing him to become rougher, more demanding. Taking the heel of his palm he pushed it into her mound and began rubbing it in a circle, knowing that the friction on her clit would drive her crazy.

  “More,” she groaned and arched upward, her hands dropping to his shoulders, her nails digging into him there.

  It turned him on and he gave her more, kissing her hard and passionately. Whatever she wanted, he wanted to give her. Everything. Anything. Just as long as she rewarded him with a gorgeous, delicious orgasm.

  Nothing in the world quite compared to the sight of her in the t
hroes of an intense climax. The memory of the last time had plagued him for years, crept into his dreams, and overrode his fantasies until they starred only Leslie.

  It was time to get her out of his head.

  And it was definitely time to get her back into his bed. He needed to have her, to purge himself of her. Then he wouldn’t be in danger of her taking over his heart anymore. Because she already had a toehold, damn her.

  Shoving the chair back on its spring as far is it would go, Peter kissed her passionately. The heel of his palm continued its gentle assault, not letting up even when she drew her legs up until only her toes were on the desk and her knees were bent.

  “Tell me how much you want this,” he panted after he broke the kiss.

  “I want this,” she whispered, her head back and eyes closed.

  Not good enough. After all the trouble she’d caused him, he wanted her begging for it. “How bad do you want it?” He nipped her bottom lip hard enough to sting and she cried out softly. “How bad do you want to come for me, Leslie?” he demanded, blood pounding in his ears and his cock hard as granite. If it was anywhere close to how badly he wanted to make her come then it was going to be one intense orgasm.

  Dropping his head further, he saw her nipples puckered beneath her black top and covered one with a mouth. He wasn’t gentle. And she liked it.

  Nails dug hard into his shoulders and she bucked against him, crying out, “So bad! Now, Peter. Make me come, now.” She ended her demand with a moan and a “please.” Then she dropped her hands until they covered his, urging him on.

  Feeling the urgency in her, he sucked a nipple through the thin black fabric of her shirt and grinned when her legs began to quiver. Knowing she was on the brink of going over, Peter flicked his tongue over her hard little peak and bit it between his teeth.

  She broke.

  Her orgasm tore through her and she cried out, “Oh God!”